


Refraction Angle

by handdrawnisopach



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Angst and Tragedy, Dark, Implied/Referenced Brainwashing, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Implied/Referenced Terrorism, Mind Manipulation, Multi, Psychic Violence, Psychometry, Quinlan Vos is not a nice guy, The Dark Side of the Force, The Force Doesn't Work Like That, hurt little comfort, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-09
Updated: 2020-06-09
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:20:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24618976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/handdrawnisopach/pseuds/handdrawnisopach
Summary: Quinlan Vos is just trying to make a living, which isn't as easy as it sounds for an ex-Jedi.  He sure as shavit didn't intend to hurt Obi-Wan, but sometimes you have to choose the lesser of two evils.Based on the AU Integration by Millberry_5
Relationships: Implied Jango Fett/Obi-Wan Kenobi, Past Quinlan Vos/Obi-Wan Kenobi
Comments: 33
Kudos: 420
Collections: Integration: The Collection





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Integration Sides and What-Not](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18795436) by [Millberry_5](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Millberry_5/pseuds/Millberry_5). 



> This story was inspired specifically by Chapter 8 of Millberry_5's 'Integration Sides and What-Not'.

Quin dodged another kick from the little bastard he’d pulled out of a Sith holding cell snagging the bar on the binders and lifting up so the kid’s feet dangled off the floor. “Knock it off, brat. I’m trying to help you.”

The kid snarled in Mando’a twisting around trying to knock Quin’s grip loose. Quin resisted the urge to shake him. The kid was his best chance at an actual payday after his raid on the Sith outpost had gone south. The original contract had been for a holocron, but the Sith lord in charge of the outpost had blown it up along with herself and most of the outpost infrastructure.

Quin had found the Mandalorian child in the wreckage of the holding cells along with a pile of corpses that belonged to the Mandalorian colonists who had been the little moon’s sole inhabitants until the Sith had invaded. Quin wasn’t going to think too hard about why the Sith had kept the kid alive, but the bloody altar in a nearby room hadn’t left much doubt.

The Mand’alor had a standing reward on the head of any captured Mandalorians who were returned to the empire. Quin had even heard a rumor that there was a bonus for the return of children under thirteen if you were willing to risk the trip to Mandalore proper and deliver them in person. The kid didn’t look much older than the average Jedi initiate so Quin was looking forward to having the rumor confirmed with cold, hard platinum.

At least, he was until the kid had gotten his hands on a spoon, sharpened the edge on his bunk, and tried to shank Quin with it. If Quin hadn’t been the kid’s target he would have been impressed. Now, he couldn’t wait to get the little brat off his damn ship. Holding the kid at arms length to avoid the dirty, flailing feet, Quin marched down the ramp of his small hunter-killer to meet the bursar.

Like all adult Mandalorians in Sudari’s public spaceport, the bursar was dressed in full besker’gam. Their armor was the humanoid standard design with no obvious modifications which would make them any of a dozen species. Their vocoder didn’t offer any more clues as they spoke without looking up from their datapad. “Quinlan Vos?”

Quin gave the kid a small warning shake. “That’s me. Got one for you, mando. Kid I found at a Sith outpost on Vanquo. Outpost is gone, and so are all the other colonists on site as far as I could tell.”

At the word ‘kid’ the mando looked up sharply, wariness and guarded hope rippling through the Force. Their eyes landed on the kid and they barked out something in Mando’a. The kid froze then began babbling frantically.

“Put them down,” the mando snarled their hand darting to one of their blasters. “Right now, aruetii!”

Quin set the kid on their feet and tapped the controller on his belt to open the binders. The kid shot down the ramp hitting the mando’s legs with an audible thud and holding tight. One of the mando’s gauntleted hands curved protectively over the back of the kid’s head carefully avoiding catching on the dark curls. The mando spoke quietly to the kid who’s amber eyes had gone from furious to tear-filled in seconds with an adult they trusted. Finally the mando looked up, “They say you did rescue them from the Sith.”

“I know. That’s why I’m here. It’s five-hundred platinum a head right?” Quin asked collapsing the binders to hang from his belt next to the controller. “I’m sorry for the restraints, but he… sorry, they did try to kill me. Multiple times.”

“Yes, yes,” the mando said absently. “I just need your guild license and I’ll get you your money.” They went silent as they communicated something on their private channel. “If you want to make some extra, intel will pay you for a debrief,” they added, more focused on the kid than anything else.

“Sure,” Quin replied cheerfully. Money was money, and Mandalorians weren’t near as stingy as the Republic nor did they occasionally kill the hired help to avoid paying like the Hutts.

The mando dug a datacard out of the pouch at their belt and held it out to Quin. “Follow the yellow signage to the restricted access dock. Give this too one of the pilots and they’ll take you to be debriefed. Your docking fees have been waived so you can leave your ship here.”

Quin snatched the datacard before the mando could change their mind. “Thank you very much!” He tossed off a sloppy salute before ducking under the wing to secure his ship. Five hundred plus platinum guaranteed was more than the Republic had offered for the holocron. It looked like he was going to come out ahead for once.

An armored twi’lek without much to say put Quin in the back of a windowless shuttle at the restricted dock. A short flight later and Quin was let off on an enclosed platform to make his way down an empty corridor to a bland looking waiting room. It was all metal and black durarubber chairs with what looked like two fake plants and a long table in the back. The only difference between this waiting room and one at a government building in the Republic was the lack of windows and the automatic turrets with cameras spaced evenly along the ceiling. An armored guard sat behind a desk at the front of the room that would have belonged to a secretary in Republic space. There was a set of blast doors behind them firmly sealed. The only other door in the room was a flimsy looking thing between two benches.

Putting his hands in his pockets, Quin strolled over with a bright smile. “I’m guessing you’re expecting me?” he asked cheerfully.

The guard checked something on the screen in front of him. “It’ll be at least an hour before they’re ready for you. Give me your license chit. Caf and holomags are on the table in the back. No smoking. If you absolutely have to, we’ll have someone take you outside. Fresher is to the left.”

Quin slid his spare bounty hunting license chit across the counter to the guard. It tickled something deep inside of him that bureaucracy was the same everywhere. The guard plugged the chit into his holoscreen pointedly ignoring the bounty hunter.

Taking the hint, Quin got himself a cup of caf, which was pretty decent for a waiting room in a government building, and the a holoreader pre-loaded with the latest issue of Pursuit Magazine, which was a guild publication out of Nar Shadda. It was a surprisingly thoughtful setup considering the places he’d been forced to wait before, even if holonet access was completely blocked.

Quin was browsing reviews of the newest models of stun cuffs when the guard looked up from their screen. “Vos, your escort is here.” The announcement was a little pointless since Quin was the only other being in the room. Still, he dutifully put the holoreader back where he found it and dropped his plast mug in the disposal unit before walking to the blastdoors. The doors slid open to reveal another armored mando though this one was significantly shorter than Quin. 

“This way, Beroya Vos,” they said in a high-pitched, almost delicate voice. “You’ll be debriefed in three.”

The hallway his escort led him down was nearly identical to the waiting room with brushed durasteel walls and a duracrete cast floor painted a dark gray to hide the dirt. Doors with colored lights above them lined the walls at ten meter intervals. The doors hand Mandalorian script painted vertically down the right side. Probably the signage. Quin’s escort stopped in front of a door with a green light above it. They tapped something on their vambrace and the door slid open. “Please take a seat, Beroya Vos. I’ll just get my datapad. Then we can start,” the mando said in a tone that Quin would call chipper from anyone not voluntarily encased in durasteel.

The room was an interrogation room. All the furniture, including the table at the center, was bolted to the floor. There were discrete maglocks and energy ties for securing different types of binders on both the chair and the table. However, the chair was large and well padded and the table was heavy wood instead of durasteel. There were a few framed pieces of art on the walls though the glint made Quin think the front pane was transparisteel instead of glass. So it was, at least, a comfortable interrogation room.

The mando brought a datapad over to the table along with a duraplast pitcher of water and a plast glass. They set the water in the middle of the table before adjusting their datapad to stand upright projecting the keyboard in front of them. “You may call me, Naia, Beroya Vos. She/her/hers. How would you prefer to be addressed?”

“Quinlan Vos, he/him/his, but you can call me Quin.” Vos settled back into the chair stretching out his legs in front of him with a happy sigh. He liked his ship, but it wasn’t designed for beings of his height.

Naia nodded, exaggerating the movement so Quin could see it even with her helmet. “Very well, Quin. Were you on a guild contract when you went to Vanquo?”

As debriefings went, Quin had no complaints. Naia was calm and professional without being brusque. When Quin’s stomach growled, they took a break for her to order some bread and meat stew for him which was delivered, still steaming, by a protocol droid. She had little interest in the Republic contract for stolen Jedi holocrons which had been Quin’s reason for infiltrating the Sith outpost in the first place. Instead, she wanted details on what he’d seen of the Sith forces and supplies, the fate of the colonists, and anything else that might be useful to a commando strike team.

Quin was considering asking for another cup of caf as Naia went through her notes when the door opened again. The Force stuttered suddenly screaming a warning. Quin’s hand flew to the place on his belt where his blaster was usually holstered. He’d left it on his ship. Mandalorians didn’t demand their contractors completely disarm so Quin had his vibroblades and the lightsaber in his boot, but he’d left his most obvious weapon behind as a show of cooperation.

Three more Mandalorians entered. Two were in green armor with sigils painted in yellow and black on the pauldrons. The shortest of the three, who was still taller than Naia, was in blue. The Force practically warped around the figure in blue whispering of a thousand years of blood and blaster ozone.

Naia was on her feet bowing deeply. “Alor! No one sent word you were coming.”

“It’s fine, alor’ad. You’re dismissed,” the blue armored figure growled.

Quin really, really hoped he’d misheard. Naia’s reaction as she scrambled to gather her things wasn’t encouraging. She bowed again before backing out of the room. “Uh,” Quin said giving the blue-armored mando his most charming smile, “I don’t think we’ve met.”

“We haven’t.” The blue-armored mando sat down in Naia’s seat. “Quinlan Vos, he/him/his. You have three years on your guild license. Two demerits, both from Hutts. Don’t like slavers very much?”

“Not any more than your empire does,” Quin said carefully. “The contracts didn’t list the missing cargo’s contents. The guild doesn’t pull licenses unless the contract states its sentient merchandise.”

The battered blue and gray helmet tilted slightly sideways. “True enough. I don’t have a problem with you killing slaver hu’tuune, beroya.” The helmet straightened again. “I am curious how a bounty hunter comes by a kad’au. You’re no jet’kyramud. The Republic likes to put warrants out on those, and we couldn’t find one for you.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Quin said. He didn’t even need to lie. He didn’t know those words.

“A lightsaber, auretii. You have one. Boba saw you use it on a Sith.” The blue-armored mando was probably smirking behind his helmet, the bastard. “Only three kinds of beings carry lightsabers. You don’t smell like Sith, and the blade was green. So you’re either a Jedi-killer the Republic doesn’t know about or you’re jetii.”

Kriff, kriff, and bantha poodoo. Quin held out his hands to either side in surrender. “Look, mando, I’m just a bounty hunter, beroya, yeah? I was on a contract. Things went south. I grabbed the kid, grabbed Boba, because there was no way in sithhells I would leave anyone to the kriffin’ Sith. Can’t we leave it at that?”

The blue-armored mando didn’t move but one of the green armored commandos moved around the table to stand behind Quin. “Where did you get the lightsaber, auretii?” the blue-armored mando asked.

Quin opened his mouth unsure if it was for a smart remark or a lie. Then he froze as something buzzed just beneath his chin. The commando behind him had a vibroblade to his throat. “I’d start with the truth,” the blue-armored mando suggested mildly.

“Ex-Jedi,” Quin said, talking as quickly as he dared with a blade so close to his jugular. “I was expelled from the Order three years ago. I’ve been freelance ever since. I can’t even take Order contracts directly. That’s how much they don’t want me around. I’ve done contracts for the empire before. Always come through. I know there’s bad blood, but I’m out of politics these days.”

“Why were you expelled?” the blue-armored mando demanded leaning forward. “You can still use the Force?”

Quin blinked. Most Mandalorians didn’t think much of Force users in general let alone know that there were ways other than suppressors to stop people from using the Force. “I can still use the Force. I broke the Order’s rules. Twice. It was leave or… Well, I chose to leave rather than deal with the Order’s kark.”

“Which rules,” the commando behind him hissed. “Tell us.”

“Why does it matter?” Quin shot back. He tilted his chin up further as the blade took off a thin layer of stubble. “Okay, okay. Take it easy. I Fell, okay? That’s all.”

The blue-armored mando slumped suddenly. “You’re a karkin’ Sith,” he growled.

“No!” Quin twitched regretting his outburst the vibroblade buzzed louder. “No, I’m not a Sith. Look, Sith and Jedi are just philosophies about how to use the Force. They both have rules about the best way to do it. I broke the Jedi’s rules, but I’m not a Sith. I don’t follow the Sith code. In the Republic, I’d be called a gray Jedi. A Force user who follows some of the Jedi code but not all of it.”

“Tell me what it means to ‘Fall’,” the second mando in green armor said in the most reasonable tone Quin had heard since Naia had fled the room.

Quin swallowed hard making sure to stay very still. “Okay, I don’t want to bore you…” He started talking faster as the mando with the knife growled. “Both the Sith and the Jedi say there’s two parts to the Force, the Light and the Dark. The Light side is what the Jedi try to cultivate. It’s about staying calm, controlling your emotions, power through peace and self-control. The Sith use the Dark side which is strong emotion, hate, rage, but it can also be other things like love. A Jedi Falls when they use strong emotions to gain power through the Force.”

“So, what, you went into battlerage and they kicked you out?” the blue-armored mando said skeptically.

Quin’s hands clenched into fists. He closed his eyes then breathed in deeply trying to control the swell of black rage. “No. My padawan and I were captured. We spent eight months on Korriban as guests of the Sith Empire. It wasn’t a pleasant experience. The Sith have ways of… of twisting Jedi up inside. It’s not really possible to explain to someone who’s not Force sensitive. When my padawan wouldn’t give in to the Dark side, the Sith decided to use her for a ritual instead. I don’t remember the details since I was out of my mind at the time. But I didn’t so much break the rules to save her as shatter them against the edge of the bar and use the pieces to kill anything between us and a way off that hellhole. Not long after we got back to the Temple we were redeployed to Hutt space. My pawadan is twi’leki.” He missed his Aayla, sweet, fierce Aayla who not even the high Sith lords could tear away from the light, like a heart or a lung or something necessary to keep breathing. “She was threatened, and I killed… well a lot of beings. When I came to, I was told I could stay and let the soulhealers take me apart and try to burn out the Dark. Or I could go. Either way, they were taking Aayla away from me.”

The blade stopped buzzing. Quinn put his clenched fists in his lap as the blue-armored mando considered him. “Where is she?” he finally asked with startingly gentleness. “Your ad?”

“My master took her on as his padawan to finish her training. She’s a knight now.” Quin glanced back as the mando behind him sheathed their vibroblade. “I still see her when I can.”

“You hate the Sith,” the sensible, green-armored mando said. “What about the Jedi?”

Quin looked around unsure what these Mandalorians wanted. “I have my issues with the Jedi Council, sure. But I still have friends at the Temple, Aayla, my old master. Most of the knights I grew up with are dead. If you’re looking with someone with a grudge to take a contract for you, I’m not interested. My issues with the Jedi are purely personal. I stay away from them professionally.” Hastily he added, “No offense intended.” He really hoped he hadn’t just signed his own death warrant, but there was nothing in the galaxy that could convince him to take a contract that might put Aayla and Tholme in danger. Once upon a time, Obi-Wan, the stiff-necked bastard, would have been on that list too. Except Obi-Wan had gotten his pert ass disintegrated by some Mandalorian commandos while defending a refugee convoy. Quin couldn’t even hate the Mandalorians for it since they probably hadn’t known who they were shooting at.

The three mandos were silent. The Force rippled around them as they spoke over their private comms where Quin couldn’t hear. Finally, the blue-armored mando flipped the external comm back on. “We’ve got a Force user in medical distress,” they said gravely. “The doctors can’t find anything wrong physically. Our best guess is it’s got something to do with Force osik, but we don’t have any way to diagnose the problem. There’s a thousand platinum in it for you if you assist, beroya.”

That hadn’t been what Quin was expecting. He rubbed his knuckles absently against the synth-leather of his pants weighing the money versus the chance of being shot in the head when they found out he couldn’t help. “Healing is a speciality. Treating someone else takes training. I learned just enough to patch up my padawan. Most likely, I’ll be even less useful than your doctors.”

“You’ll get the money just for trying,” the mando with the vibroblade said abruptly. “Even if it doesn’t work.”

Quin could only hope it wasn’t a kid. He knew that Mandalorians didn’t have any sort of system for training their Force sensitive offspring. For some children, especially those with an affinity for the Cosmic Force, a lack of training could be fatal as Force visions fried their brains. Still, if it was a kid, he had to at least try. Especially since the Force was insisting rather loudly he go with them. “Okay. But you better not shoot me when I can’t do anything.”

The sensible mando chuckled softly. “I think we can avoid that, Beroya Vos. Your weapons, please.”


	2. Chapter 2

The mandos were very thorough in their search even finding the back-up ceramic knife hidden in Quin’s belt buckle. He was a little surprised they didn’t insist that he strip considering how up close and personal they were getting.

All of Quin’s weapons were put into a metal bucket which was passed off to Naia, who’d been waiting in the hall. She patted Quin’s arm as she hurried off with them. “I’ll make sure you get them back before you leave.”

Quin gave her a giant smile. “Any excuse to see me again?” he teased but Naia didn’t respond. Her anxiety floated in her wake like sea foam on the currents of the Force. Quin shivered a little at the sensation. “You are actually the Mand’alor,” he said curiously to the blue-armored mando. “I wasn’t sure at first if you were just trying to psych me out.”

“Yes,” Jango Fett, the kriffing Mand’alor, said without inflection. “I am.”

“Right. This is great,” Quin said with fake cheer. What the sithhells was the Mand’alor doing fussing over a sick Force user? No one seemed eager to answer the implied question, and the Force suggested very strongly that prodding would be a bad idea. It was a long, quiet ride from the bland government building to a transparisteel and durasteel beam structure in the center of the city.

The whole building was filled with natural light from Mandalore’s unforgiving sun, but the transparisteel kept out the worst of the heat making everything pleasantly warm. This wasn’t a public part of the city. Not everyone they walked past was wearing armor. Quin even saw a few children.

They took a turbolift to one of the upper floors which was some kind of medical facility. The air was cooler and smelled of bacta and antiseptic. A doctor met them near the turbolift, a tired looking Mon Calamari who made Quin think longingly of Bant. “No change, alor. We put a few more plants in the room. The Republic pamphlet suggested it for children who were having trouble concentrating, but I think we’re beyond simple fixes.”

“This is Quinlan Vos, he/him/his,” Fett said brusquely already striding forward. “He used to be a jetii. Now he’s a bounty hunter. He’s agreed to take a look at our patient for a price. Vos, Doctor Vran, he/him/his.”

Vran nodded. His wet, golden eyes darted skeptically over Vos. “Well, at least it's something new,” he said without enthusiasm.

“What about the ade?” the mando with the vibroblade demanded sharply. “Have any of them…”

“So far, all have recovered successfully using the manual you provided. However, the incidents are coming more often and lasting for longer. It seems unrelated to the patient.” The doctor pressed his palm to the pad next to a door. “All of the affected have described a feeling of overwhelming darkness and negative emotions. Whereas, their previous interactions were always characterized as warm and comforting.”

“If he’s a threat, I’ll handle it myself, Effie,” Fett said grimly to the other mando. “But I don’t think this is him.”

“If it isn’t him, then we need him back,” ‘Effie’ replied in a near snarl.

The door opened to a sun-filled room. There was only one bed placed near the window. Green plants and pots of bright blue flowers lined the walls softening the medical harshness of the machines surrounding the bed. A figure lay under a white sheet, completely still except for a faint motion where the chest was on a humanoid species.

Quin recognized a ventilator and a dialysis machine, but they weren’t hooked up. There was also something sticky and wrong that made him gag. “Ugh. Are those Force suppressors?” he demanded. “No wonder you’ve got a problem.”

“We tried taking them off,” Vran snapped. “But then things wouldn’t stop floating.”

That didn’t sound right for an untrained kid no matter how strong. Quin walked over to look at the patient. He felt the burn as his eyes went gold. “You bastards!” His hand flung out slamming them all backwards with a flare of dark energy. “What have you done to Ben!”

There were blasters pointed at his head, but Quin didn’t care. He ripped the suppressor collar and cuffs off without touching them, flinging them to the side. No one else in the room mattered except for the deathly still, indescribably precious being in front of him. Quin put one knee on the bed so he could lean over his old friend cupping Obi-Wan’s face between his hands as he pressed their foreheads together. “Oh, Ben, what have they done to you,” he breathed closing his eyes.

Obi-Wan wasn’t there. Quin could feel his Light but it was too far away to reach. Even the remnant of their old pairbond was impossible to find, gossamer strands fluttering against nothing in the Force. “Come back, Ben,” Quin murmured as he stroked the delicate skin near Obi-Wan’s eyes with his thumbs. “I’m here. You don’t have to hide.”

The Light shivered then went back to its steady burn. Obi-Wan wasn’t interested in coming back. He was all but detached from the ‘crude matter’ of his body, a slow suicide Quin hadn’t seen since Qui-gon Jinn had decided to be an idiot. Obi-Wan had pulled his master back from the edge, but they’d had a training bond. Quin had severed his pairbond with Obi-Wan himself to keep the Council from punishing the younger knight.

There were tears on his cheeks when Quin looked up at the nervous Mandalorians. “You killed him,” he said dully. “You kriffing, sithdamned, soulless shellheads. You killed Obi-Wan kriffing Kenobi. Congratulations.”

“He’s still breathing,” Fett barked, his blaster never wavering from Quin’s face. “And his vitals are stable.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Quin mumbled. He settled onto the bed shifting Obi-Wan’s limp body around so the shorter man was cradled in his lap. “He’s already half-way in the Force. You’re just slowing the process down by keeping his body alive. Luminous beings we are, not this crude matter. He’s leaving crude matter behind.” It took a true master, one so in control of themselves and their relationship with the Force they could overcome the bone deep imperative to survive, to pass to the Force by Will alone. Obi-Wan Kenobi was one of the most accomplished masters in the Order despite the mess of his lineage and his young age. “You bastards,” Quin repeated helplessly, regretting handing over his weapons.

The mandos were talking to each other in their own tongue. The doctor spoke up first. “He was never physically harmed. I monitored him myself. Granted, the psychological stress of intensive integration can have a physiological impact, but not like this, not in a human standard.”

Integration. Quin suddenly wished he’d just dumped the kid at the nearest fuel station instead of getting greedy. He’d been hoping for another contract from the people who were trying to unravel Obi-Wan’s mind. “He’s not human standard,” he said roughly, pressing a kiss to Obi-Wan’s coppery hair. It was soft and clean, smelling of herbs. Someone had been taking good care of his body at least. “He’s a Jedi master, the youngest in the Order. His padawan is the strongest Jedi on record. There is nothing standard about our Ben.”

Our Ben. Who was ‘our’ anymore? Qui-gon Jinn was dead. Garen Muln and his master had been killed during a dogfight with Sith bombers. Siri Tachi had been executed by the Hutts while Quin and Aayla had been on Korriban. Reeft had died young, in a temple bombing when they 

were all still padawns. Bant Eerin’s master had fled to Wild Space to find the Altisian Jedi after Jinn’s death to avoid the fallout of her suddenly revealed, illicit lifebond with the tall bastard. Bant had gone with her master, and Quin couldn’t blame her. If Tholme had left, he and Aayla would have followed. Even Quin himself rarely exchanged more than a few lines of encrypted text with his childhood friends since his expulsion from the Order. Luminara Unduli still lived, but she was a hardliner who butted very calm heads with Obi-Wan often.

When Quin tallied the butcher’s bill, he couldn’t blame Obi-Wan. Aayla had said that Obi-Wan’s relationship with his padawan had already begun to disintegrate under the Skywalker’s expectation he would be made a knight sooner rather than later. With Obi-Wan’s last meaningful tie to the Order a source of more pain than joy, there wasn’t any thread to tug to bring him back.

“You know him,” Fett said coolly.

Quin looked up. He’d forgotten the mandos were standing there. “We grew up together, same clan even if I was a little older. I’ve known Ben… Well, I think the only living being who’s known Ben longer is Master Yoda.”

Fett holstered his blaster though the others kept them aimed at Quin. “Why do you call him Ben?” he asked almost like he was coaxing an injured animal.

“Ben is his creche-name. Like Quin. Or Nara. It’s what we called each other when we were young.” Quin carefully smoothed Obi-Wan’s hair behind his ears. “I think I’m the only one still around to call him by it.” He didn’t know why he told the mando that. It wasn’t like the man cared.

“We weren’t trying to hurt Ben, Quin,” Fett said, voice low and steady. “I know you might not believe me, but we need him. He’s a good teacher. Since we found him, children have lived that would have died if it hadn’t been for his training. But the children are having fits again. We don’t know why. Some of us think it’s Ben.”

Quin shook his head. “It’s the Sith. They do it to Jedi younglings too, blast them with the Dark, try to make them fall before they understand that the void eats you.”

There was more hissing in Mando'a. Quin was too focused on Obi-Wan’s dimming light to pay attention. He nursed it as best he could trying to coax a stronger flame. His hands were slippery with blood and shadows, but Obi-Wan had never been afraid of Quin’s darkness.

“Quin,” Fett said a little louder. It wasn’t the first time he said Quin’s name. Quin grunted in acknowledgement. “You can tell if I’m lying right?”

“Yes,” Quin said flatly.

“I’ve told you the truth. We never wanted to hurt him. We want him here with us, safe and happy, teaching our children so they don’t have to live in fear. If we were to send him back to the jetiise, what would they do to him?” Fett stated the question neutrally, but Quin could feel the edge of desperation to it.

Quin sighed heavily. “I don’t know. He hasn’t Fallen. I don’t think he’s capable of it, but you’ve had him for a long time. Everyone knows you’re good at brainwashing.”

“He’d be looked upon with suspicion, isolated, and stripped of privileges,” Fett said. “Just like they wanted to do to you.” Then he let out a wet gargle.

Squeezing his fingers a little tighter, Quin looked up with his eyes blazing gold. “Don’t try to play mind games with me, Fett. I’m not Ben. I’ll kill you.”

“You don’t want to do that,” the sensible mando said loudly in a voice that was very pointedly calm. “If you do, we’ll have to kill you and Ben.”

Quin released Fett from the Force choke when he saw the blaster pressed to Obi-Wan’s chest. “I’ll buy him,” he said since it was the first thing that came to mind. “He’s no good like this. I’ll pay to take him off your hands. Maybe if he’s somewhere else I can convince him to come back.”

“And then what?” the sensible mando asked without moving his blaster away from Obi-Wan. “You told us yourself that the Jedi Order considers you contaminated. If he goes with you, he’ll be no better off.”

“What else is there?” Quin demanded. “I don't know what you did to convince him this was the best option, but he’s not going to fall in line just because you decided he should.”

The sensible mando nodded. “We know. But we tried to help him anyways, Beroya Vos. Even though he’s refusing to integrate, we paid you to help him recover. We care about your Ben because he’s himself not because he might be useful. We just want him to be happy and safe with us.”

Truth the Force whispered. It was murky as the Dark sulked through the air. Quin tried to remember the last time he’d seen his friend happy without that shadow darkening his blue eyes. Qui-gon Jinn had a lot to answer for even before the bantha’s ass had decided to run into a Sith saberstaff and take Ben’s smile with him.

Quin’s skillset didn’t lean towards precognition and visions. That had always been Obi-Wan’s curse. He could feel the paths branching towards the future. “Give me your blaster,” he told Fett. The man stiffened. “Or anything else you carry all the time. But it needs to be something important to you.”

As Fett dug around in one of the pouches on his belt, Quin used his teeth to pull off one of his synth-leather gloves. They were lined with cortosis mesh, a gift from Obi-Wan, to keep his psychometry from kicking in every time he touched something. Holding out his hand, bare palm up, Quin accepted the metal pendant curling his fingers around it and focusing. It was a piece of beskar, true beskar, forged into a good luck charm by the man Jango thought of as ‘father’.

“You’ll take care of him,” Quin said without opening his eyes. “If the Sith take him, you’ll come for him?”

“Yes,” Fett said and there was a bloody promise in that single word.

A good Jedi would let Obi-Wan go. It was what he wanted. To become Mandalorian, he would have to be unmade. But Quinlan Vos wasn’t a Jedi anymore. He wanted his best friend, last friend, to live. If Obi-Wan couldn’t live as a Jedi he would have to become something else.

“I’ll help you,” Quin said, dropping the charm back into Fett’s hands. “Force forgive me.”

Fett tucked the charm away against. His expressionless helmet couldn’t conceal the intensity of his gaze. “How?”

“I’m going to do to Ben what the Sith did to me except without the whips and knives,” Quin replied, trying not to choke on the words. “He’ll need you, Fett, and any of his students who are willing. You have Force shielded rooms?”

The mando with the vibroblade shifted uncomfortably. “Alor, I’m not sure about this.”

“Your ad needs him, Effie,” Fett responded, putting a hand on their arm. “And she’s not the only one.” He inclined his head to Quin. “We have rooms.”

“We’ll need to move him to one, as comfortable as you can make it. And I’m going to need drugs, lots of drugs.” Quin pressed a kiss to Obi-Wan’s forehead. This was what Tholme had always warned him about when affection became attachment. Quin didn’t care.


	3. Chapter 3

Vran blanched when Quin gave him the list of medications and dosages. “Are you trying to drive him mad?” he warbled in outrage.

Quin nodded. “Yes.” The doctor stared at him in horrified silence. “Look, I have to completely break down his shields. Ben’s very good at shielding. If he tries to keep me out the stress will cause a hemorrhage and he’ll stroke out. I’d rather have him go crazy and put the pieces back together later than deal with an emergency surgery.”

The room they put Obi-Wan in was obviously a cell, but someone had gone to the effort of making it more homey by transferring all the plants and changing the industrial lightbars out for warmer glow panels. The white medical sheets had been exchanged as well for brightly colored, hand-woven blankets that were soft to the touch.

To Quin’s surprise, Obi-Wan had a small but steady stream of visitors including a tired looking mirialan woman who laid on the bed next to him and spoke in quiet Mando'a for almost an hour before armored commandos came to escort her back to her own room. There were also children, young enough to be in the creche, who came in groups of two and threes to huddle next to their ‘sick’ teacher until their parents coaxed them away.

Fett came by every few hours to check on Quin’s progress. Vran was being stubborn about the medication schedule and insisting on using an autofeeder and IV instead of hydrosprays. Quin gave in because he didn’t want to think about what he was going to do to his best friend anymore.

Quin couldn’t stall anymore once the IV was running a mixture of saline and nutrients. Vran had reluctantly agreed to wait outside the room ready to spring into action if there was an emergency Quin couldn’t handle. Fett had changed out of his armor into tunics and pants. Somehow he wasn’t any softer without the besker plates as his cold, hazel eyes, nearly Sith amber, took in the scene Obi-Wan laying on the bed with a shunt in the big vein under his collarbone and the machine loaded with enough stimulants, sedatives, antipsychotics, and hallucinogens to kill a krayt dragon.

“What exactly are you going to do?” he asked with the sort of blandness which could only be fake.

“Look, everyone has these fissures in their minds like fault lines,” Quin explained gesturing vaguely. “The more trauma, the more fault lines. Right now, those fault lines are stable especially in a Jedi who can use the Force to hold it all together. I’m going to use the drugs to sort of… wash the Force glue out of the cracks. Then I’m going to cause an earthquake. The Sith try to do something similar, but they don’t know where the faults are so they use pain and fear instead. I know where Ben’s fault lines are. I was there to hold him every time Jinn made him cry.”

Fett held up a hand. “Jinn?”

“Qui-gon Jinn, Ben’s master. He should have never been given another padawan, but he was straying from the Order. So Yoda decided Ben made a nice sacrifice.” Quin realized he wasn’t making any sense. The Force was buzzing in his ears, a strange hesitant harmony of Light and Dark. Wouldn’t it give the Council fits to the Will of the Force was okay with their poster boy becoming Mandalorian?

“Vos,” Fett said sharply snapping his fingers in front of Quin’s face. “Focus.”

Quin blinked. “Right. Qui-gon Jinn, complete bantha’s ass. He didn’t want Ben and even when he wanted him he used him as a punching bag.” Feeling the sudden surge of anger, Quin elaborated quickly, “Mostly verbally. Ben denied it ever went further, but I think it did at least once. I hated him, still hate him. Skywalker, Ben’s padawan, was Searched by Jinn. When the Council made noises about sending him to one of the Corps, Jinn tried to repudiate Ben and take Skywalker on instead. He died not long after. Ben was knighted for killing the Sith lord who killed Jinn and then he took Skywalker as his padawan on the same day. Because that’s what Jinn demanded he do.”

Fett looked bemused by the word vomit as Quin rubbed his eyes. “Sorry. You didn’t want his tragic backstory. The point is, Ben has a lot of fault lines. More than enough to move the pieces into a new configuration. With the wrong pressure, you can make a Jedi Fall doing that. When I knock everything loose we’re going to do the opposite of the Sith. Love instead of fear. Affection instead of pain. Ben craves it even though he’ll never admit to anything that might be perceived as attachment.”

“How do you know?” Fett asked. The disinterest in his tone clashed horribly with the concentrated intent he radiated.

Quin looked up at the whiff of predatory possession. “Because I was the one he came to when Jinn wasn’t enough. Some of those fault lines are mine. Ben loved me when we were kids, and I didn’t understand I was hurting him. Not until I had a padawan of my own.” Fett’s lip curled the beginnings of a jealous snarl. “Look, Fett,” Quin snapped, “we’re Force users. And Ben is even more in his head than I was. There isn’t a direct connection between our bodies and our minds like you understand it. Our bodies are just conduits, tools. Sure we kept them looking pretty, but you can make a lightsaber hilt pretty. You have to understand the difference. Ben’s dying because he’s separating himself completely from his body, and it’s comfortable for him because his body isn’t him. It’s just a set of clothes he’s tired of wearing.”

“Ah.” Fett looked like he’d bitten into something unpleasant. “That explains a few things. You hurt him because you shared your bodies but not your minds?”

“Exactly,” Quin agreed.

“How are you going to reconnect his body and his mind?” Fett asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

Quin shook his head. “I’m not. We’re going to rearrange his mind so he wants to keep his body. It’s a tool, yes, but it's a tool that directly affects the minds of others. Holding a child comforts them. Kissing a lover pleases them. Swinging a lightsaber protects the people you care about. That’s the reason Jedi preach about attachment. It makes you more fond of the tool than your duty.”

Fett huffed a humorless laugh. “You realize that makes no kriffing sense, right?”

“I haven’t slept in two days and I’m about to do something awful to Ben. I don’t need to make sense.” Quin groped around for the cup of stim-laced caf someone had brought him. “Look, you know what love-bombing is. I know you do. It’s probably part of your integration formula. We’re going to do the Force-enhanced version with Ben. So whoever you let into this room better be at least a good friend.”

“I’ll take care of it, Vos.” Fett hesitated, “What about the ade? The children? How bad is this going to be?”

Quin tossed back the last of the caf. “I don’t know. Crying probably, maybe screaming. Older would be better. Not the younglings that were in here earlier. At least not at first. They can come in later when he’s more stable. This is going to take awhile.”

“Understood.” Fett left speaking into a comm unit.

Obi-Wan slept peacefully still lost in the Force as Quin settled on the bed next to him. “Hey, Ben,” he murmured, wrapping an arm around the warm, lean chest. “Remember when we used to spar and I’d tell you I only beat you into the mat because I cared? I’m only doing this because I love you.” Darkness curled gently through the words. “I love you so much. I always have. You deserve better, but I’m what’s left.”

Obi-Wan didn’t acknowledge the words. Though the light seemed to flicker a little brighter before settling back into a dim glow. Quin closed his eyes letting himself settle into a light meditation as he waited.

Fett led a line of four people into the room. None of them were in armor, instead wearing the colorful tunics and leather pants that seemed to the standard fashion for Mandalorians. The tired Miralaen was directly behind Fett radiating apprehension. There was a nervous togruta holding the hand of an equally uncertain twi’lek. The last was a teenager whose Force presence flared and settled with poor control of a Jedi initiate. Fett himself might as well have been made of steel settling heavy and solid in the Force, immovable.

“We’re ready,” Fett told Quin like he was preparing to come out of a trench at an enemy.

Quin didn’t speak. He waved his hand using the Force to start the infusion machine. Obi-Wan shifted like he was about to wake up as the stimulants hit. Then it was pure, biological chaos as all the drugs, most of which had contradictory effects, kicked in. Blue eyes snapped open. Obi-Wan’s hand latched onto Quin’s arm. “What…” was all he managed before his eyes rolled into the back of his head as his carefully crafted shields splintered outwards along with his sense of self.

It was easy to find the scabbed over remaint of Obi-Wan’s shattered training bond. Quin dug mental fingers under the healing mess and ripped it clean off. He ignored the scream finding the choked bond Obi-Wan shared with Skywalker and tearing it out by the root. Ruthlessly, he hunted through the familiar mindscape. There was where Obi-Wan’s pairbond with Garen had been, now bleeding anew. The bond he’d shared with Quin had healed cleanly but a hard jab rent open the soft place once more. The same with the bond Obi-Wan had shared with Bant.

Obi-Wan was fighting, thrashing around. He couldn’t muster enough concentration for a Force push as Quin rolled on top of him to hold him place still digging. Quin took a blade to the old scars, laying them open clear down the bone. Bandomeer. Melida/Daan. Tatooine. Alderaan. Xanatos. Siri. Dooku. Quin. Ratatak. Ventress. Tahl.

A thousand smaller cracks lead to others. With surgical precision, Quin sliced through the keloid holding it all together. Obi-Wan was sobbing, clinging to Quin even though Quin was the one hurting him because it was better than being alone. Yoda. Windu. Another hundred reminders he would spend the rest of his life paying for his master’s sins. Skywalker. Jinn.

Quin opened his eyes holding Obi-Wan’s head gently to his chest. “Shh,” he murmured. “All done, Ben.”

“What did you do?” Obi-Wan rasped out gulping for air. “Quin! Why!”

Nuzzling his old crechemate’s temple, Quin pressed a quick kiss there. “Because you’re going to live, Ben. Whether you want to or not.” Then he rolled away. “He needs help,” he told Fett. “Help him.”

Carefully, Obi-Wan was pulled onto the floor as the second round of drugs was pushed into his system. Fett held him in his lap as Obi-Wan tried to fight, pinning him place with the twi’lek’s help. The mirialan gripped one of Obi-Wan’s hands tightly between her own resting her forehead against his knuckles. The others huddled in close, petting and speaking in Mando'a, offering what comfort they could.

There was an almost audible snap as Obi-Wan stopped fighting and slumped into the support. Quin reached out running gentle fingers over the freshly jagged edges that were already moving in Obi-Wan’s mind. He gave a careful nudge to a piece that was trying to break off completely holding it steady until it stabilized. The edges were the most likely to fray so Quin policed them ruthlessly making sure pieces of Obi-Wan didn’t disappear into the void. Not like the Sith who’d done this to him, who hadn’t cared what Quin lost in the process.

With his internal sense of balance blasted to pieces by the drug mixture, Obi-Wan instinctively reached out to the Force. Quin didn’t let him. Instead, he pulled down the Dark sending Obi-Wan careening desperately towards the dim flickers of light that were the others in the room, latching onto their presences to steady himself. Quin gritted his teeth not so much releasing his fury and pain into the Force as prying it out of himself and throwing it into the currents to be dragged away.

Obi-Wan’s voice was small inside his head, whispering along the silk-strong thread of their now repaired pair-bond. ‘Why, Quin?’

Quin didn’t answer in words because if he tried his own selfishness might humiliate him into stopping. It was the cool pinpricks of the morning air and ringing in his ears, blood on the floor of the creche. Bant’s big eyes misty with distress as she held them close for the last time. Luminara’s face, gone yellow in shock, as she tried to struggle free of Obi-Wan’s arms. The small, half-grown body of her padawan laid shattered on the temple floor a hundred stories below. Quin hadn’t been there for Bariss Offee’s suicide. That was Obi-Wan’s memory.

‘It’s enough, Ben,’ Quin whispered though he wasn’t sure if it was through their bond or aloud. ‘You’ve fought long and hard and well. Sometimes though, you do your best, you do the impossible, and you still fail. There’s no shame in that.’

‘They’ll unmake me.’ It was pure fear, child-like as Obi-Wan scratched at the inside of Quin’s skull.

Quin nodded. ‘Yes, they will. But sometimes you have to be unmade to survive. We’re the last, Ben. Even Nara would say live.’

“Nara,” Obi-Wan breathed. The quiet murmurs of Mando'a paused in surprise. “Nara’s dead, Quin.” There was an image, a futile last stand of Luminara clothed in her culture’s traditional black robes with her green saber in one hand and her lost padawan’s white-blue blade in the other holding back a tide of darkness. It was recent.

“Kriff me.” Quin couldn’t hold back a sob. They were the last then, a fallen ex-Jedi and a Mandalorian captive. The sob echoed from Obi-Wan. “Bant, Bant’s alive right?” Quin demanded. Obi-Wan had always been closer to the cautious Mon Cal girl.

Obi-Wan’s laugh cracked right down the middle. “I don’t know. If she is, she’s so far away I can’t tell anymore. She and Master Tahl never made contact after they left.”

“Then what’s the point of fighting, Ben? I can’t go back. They won’t let me. Stay here. No one’ll give two karks if I crash on your couch between contracts.” Quin grimaced at the image of Anakin, much older than the last time Quin had seen the kid, which Obi-Wan practically threw into his head. “If he misses you, he can find you. It’s not like your brat bothered following orders before.” Before Obi-Wan could start on his self-righteous poodoo, Quin added, “Duty killed us, Ben. Ten initiates in our creche-clan, seven of us became padawans, six made it knighthood, and that was still the highest percentage in years. Two decades later, and it’s just you and me. Please, Ben, don’t leave me alone just to convince the kriffing council Qui-gon bloody Jinn wasn’t a liar.”

Obi-Wan pulled himself up onto the bed with Fett’s assistance, body trembling from the muscle spasms caused by mixing stimulants and depressants. “When this is over, I’m going to beat you into the sparring mats,” he warned as he rested his forehead against Quin’s shoulder. “You’re a manipulative, amoral, sadistic ass, and I love you.”

“I love you too, brother.” Quin leaned his cheek against the soft sweep of copper hair. “It’ll be okay, Ben. Just trust in the Force.”

They drifted together. Fett didn’t seem pleased by their closeness, but he’d gotten what he wanted. So he ordered medics to examine them then allowed Obi-Wan’s younger students in a few at time to see that their instructor was awake and able to answer them in the Force. A few of the bolder ones prodded at Quin’s mind as well. He gave the telepathic equivalent of a menacing growl which sent them scurrying back to Obi-Wan's soft, disordered presence for reassurance.

Quin lost track of time meditating with his old friend.. People came and went, mostly to sit with Obi-Wan. Quin gently held the fragile pieces of Obi-Wan’s self in place while the damage began to heal. When Obi-Wan finally fell into the dead sleep of the undrugged and exhausted, Quin regained enough awareness to see that he had been stuck with an IV as well. A mando in green armor, the one who’d held a vibroblade to his neck, was sitting in a chair by the bed browsing a holoreader. “Take it easy, beroya,” they said when they noticed Quin stirring. “It’s been almost three days.”

“Shavit, that long?” Quin sat up very slowly as his head swam. “Well, the good news is that Ben probably isn’t going to go crazy… well, crazier. But maybe don’t do anything to shock his system for the next few weeks.”

“You’re talking like you plan to leave before he wakes up,” the mando noted blandly.

Quin snorted. “Master Kenobi may be the platonic ideal of a Jedi, but Ben has a hell of a temper. A month or two for him to cool down will significantly decrease the number of bruises coming my way.”

The mando cocked their head. “And you’re not afraid that we’ll abuse him?”

“That depends on your definition of abuse.” Quin held up a hand and wiggled his fingers. “Some Force-users can know things by touching objects. I’m one of them. Your boss, the Mand’alor, I know what he wants. And it’ll keep Ben alive for longer than taking him back to the Jedi will. There’s no moral high ground left for me so I’ll call that an acceptable outcome.”

“Pragmatic,” the mando said like they were approving. “Make it six months. Kenobi… excuse me, Ben, is going to be in recovery for awhile.” Meaning they were going to feed Obi-Wan sedatives to keep him disoriented and dependent on their help.

Quin grinned sharply. “Six months. Fine.” He pulled the IV out ignoring the sting and stopping the trickle of blood with a flicker of Force healing. The Force responded sluggishly so his IV had been laced as well. “So, are you going to let me go?”

“We’re even going to pay you,” the mando said with a cheerfulness which clearly stated they personally would have preferred making sure he didn’t wake up. “I’ll get the doc in here to sign off on your paperwork.”

**Author's Note:**

> I don't actually know where I'm going with this or if it will be continued. Please consider it up for adoption.


End file.
